


The Alternative

by Nendil



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Bisexual Link, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frotting, Genderbending, M/M, Male Sheik (Legend of Zelda), Masturbation, POV Female Character, Porn with Feelings, Sheik is Zelda, magical solutions to mundane problems, thirsty af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25802203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nendil/pseuds/Nendil
Summary: Fortunately for them both, Sheik is not bound by the rules for a princess.
Relationships: Link/Sheik (Legend of Zelda), Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	1. Serenade

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [potofsoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/potofsoup) for putting up with my random rants as I wrestled this piece into existence, being a patient & hilarious beta, and holding my hand through the minefield of "how the heck do I tag this thing". (Please do mind the tags; this is a weird one)
> 
> Mild warning: Viewpoint character starts out with a somewhat conservative/sheltered mindset. Rest assured that it will not drag down the story; of course I'm all about the fluff what do you take me for.

They cannot keep carrying on like this.

Enlisting Link into the barracks had been a mistake. A properly wise princess would have, should have foreseen the outcome easily. Should've known what a difference it would be to have him consistently in her orbit, instead of roaming the kingdom for days and weeks on end. Should've known how easy it is to lose all sense of propriety behind closed doors under the privacy of night, with a proper bed so close at hand. Should've known how delicate and fraught a thing it is, to preserve a princess's dignity.

Yet she keeps summoning him back anyway.

It is the third of these nights, where they have met and collapsed against the mattress without even a pretense at civilities, when Zelda has an attack of clarity. "We can't keep carrying on like this," she says.

Link is still kissing his way down her jaw. "'Kay," he says, making no effort to remove his hand from where it has made a tangle of itself in her nightgown.

"You can't keep coming back. I will have to lock the doors. And windows."

Link peeks up with one eye from the vicinity of her neckline. "You _know_ I'll just find the key in ten minutes."

"I'm serious!" She shoves at him fruitlessly. "We're going to keep doing this, and someday it'll go over the line, we'll get caught—"

"Mmph," Link says, face full in cleavage. "I've gotten out of worse situations."

"Well, I haven't!" She drops her head hopelessly against the pillows. "Unlike _you_ , the Princess of Hyrule is not free to just fight everyone in her way and run off to lands unknown whenever she pleases! _Some of us_ have to face things like _consequences_ and _responsibility_ and—and being locked away, and I mean politically, not in a dungeon you can just crash through valiantly and come away with a princess for your _prize—_ "

And it is a credit to him that at the note of despair in her voice, Link lays down his arms and does not prolong this parry and riposte. Instead he raises his head and weight mostly off her, and considers her pout as if turning over a puzzle in his palm. "You know," he says, "I had an idea the other day."

"Uh-oh. Is it dangerous?"

"All my ideas are dangerous." He grins cheekily at her. "That's why the Triforce of Wisdom didn't want me."

"Yet the _bearer_ of the Triforce of Wisdom wants you." Zelda sighs, and traces one resigned foot down his thigh. "I'm not sure that speaks well for Wisdom, after all. So what has Courage to say?"

Link sits back on his heels, and smooths her nightgown back down in a surprisingly considerate manner. "Well, we're stuck like this, playing by the rules 'cause we can't. You know. Besmooch the Princess's body."

 _Besmirch._ "Yeah," she groans, uneager for the reminder. "Suitors."

"Okay, so." Link flops onto his side, looking for all the world like he's about to present her with a bottle that may or may not contain the most _fascinating_ bug. "Sheik," he says, expectantly. "You told me that was a different body."

She stares at him, unwrapping the idea in her mind's eye. "Sheik's body is male, though."

"Well, that means it's safe, right? No risk of, ah, devouring your virtue, was it? No maidenhood to corrupt?"

"Maiden _head_ ," Zelda corrects automatically, and nearly chokes on the word. Curse him for making her say it. But the possibilities heedlessly start taking form in her mind: Dreadful. Scandalous. ...Tantalizing. "Would... would you still like that? Being with..."

"It's still you." Link bumps her nose with his. "Isn't it? Still your feelings? Still you in control?" His hips roll against her impertinently. "Still hot for me?"

"Very," she admits, pushing back and earning a small groan of approval. "But it's... I mean, we wouldn't be able to... w-well, perhaps some... things?"

"I'll try it. I've tried lots of things." He catches himself and makes a face. "I-I mean, not like that—not the sexy things. I mean like, jump off Death Mountain holding a cucco, things."

Zelda tries to hold in a laugh. "I don't know if I'm flattered, anymore."

"Crap. Okay. Gotta get back on track." He pulls her on top of him, and makes to flatter her _very_ thoroughly. Perhaps, some dim thought at the back of her mind speculates, this is part of his ploy to convince her of his proposal by driving her to desperate ends. Or—or perhaps, just driving her to desperation was sufficient motivation enough—and the rest of her reasoning dissolves into vapor under his too-clever hands. His mouth captures her breast and his _tongue_ , his tongue is licking her _through_ her nightgown as though it afforded no protection at all—Nayru's Laws, that was too far; that was too far and she can't stop him, her heart craved the heat of this contact too keenly to stop him—He grants her a small mercy and detaches from her with a wet _pop_ , but the white silk is now soaked through and he can see everything, _everything—_ She gasps and sits up, brushing her hair over her shoulder to cover her indecency, but now her movement has pressed her up against his undeniable hardness, and it is too tempting to gauge his reaction when she shifts, leans, _grinds—_

Stop. Stop. Stop stop stop _stop_. "Stop," Zelda pants, nearly sobbing. "I'm sorry. We can't. We _can't_."

"Okay, okay. It's okay." Link sits up with strength that she doesn't have, and pulls her into a soothing embrace, adjusting their positions subtly as to avoid further contact of controversial areas. He rubs her back graciously and chastely. It's very okay.

But she doesn't want to be _okay_. She wants to be _fondled_ , to be _stimulated_ , to be properly _ravished_. She wants to be able to love her brave, patient, loyal hero like he deserved. Her treacherous fingers were still twisted into his tunic, his belt buckle a mere twitch beneath. It would be so _easy_. It was so close. They were inches away from catching as dry tinders, and if not this time, then surely the next, or the next after that, until probability tapers away into raw inevitability. "It's the only way, isn't it?" Zelda sighs, sagging in resignation. "I can't love you as I am. You will have to settle for a shadow, I'm afraid."

Link reaches up and weaves his fingers through her hair, over her temples, cupping her chin and smoothing out her brows. "If it helps..." he says, tentatively, "I think last time, you know, back then, I was maybe in love with Sheik a little, too. Had a couple of dreams about him... it was all very mysterious and frustrating. Like always." (She can't help but crack a small smile at that.) "Wasn't sure what to think, because I didn't really care about other guys like that? But then, it's not like there were many other guys around like him. Like you." His thumbs trace her cheeks and she meets his eyes, blue against blue, soul against soul. "Could've just been because it was you, you know, all along. Gods, things got a thousand times less complicated when I found that out." He heaves a sigh, then looks back up at her with much less gravitas. "Point is, um." He tickles her ribs. "We could. You know. Get it on."

Her heart jumps in her chest, with embarrassment, with fear... with yearning. "I think," Zelda says slowly, "I need a little time to... think it over." A chastened look starts to glide over Link's face, and she hastens to assure him, "I just want to get used to the idea. Prepare, you know."

"Yeah," Link breathes, as they detangle themselves ruefully. "Yeah. Okay. Good... idea." He pulls on his boots, flashes her a last hopeful grin. "You'll let me know...?"

She grants him a small laugh as she shoos him out to the balcony. "Within a few days. I promise."

* * *

It is two nights later before she has the privacy and time (and—if she is to be honest, courage—) to unroll the idea again. Beneath a concealing cocoon of quilts, beneath a cold uncaring moon, Zelda touches a hand to the space at her thighs' juncture, and tries to imagine— _tries to remember_ —what it would be like to have a _length_ , a _protrusion_ there instead. What it could lead to, if she assented.

Link wanted to make love to her as a man. Did that make him a deviant? Would it make _her_ one? It was the type of thing one only hears spoken of in mockery, or disdain, or controversy—within a princess's earshot, at least. In whispers passed between Gossip Stones, in taverns and kitchens and other places of common ribaldry, it was reputed that the Gerudo, unbeholden to Nayru's laws, partook in the company of each other just as often—likely, _more_ often—as the men they ensnared. But even then, they were women, with other women. It didn't carry the same level of scandal as two men debasing themselves with each other. In Hyrule proper, it was just not _done_.

But then, what would _she_ know about what was and wasn't done in Hyrule's beds? She had never even been indulged by a lover. Might never be allowed to. So who is she to judge if a man finds his pleasure in another of similar persuasion? If _Link—_

She shivers, and slips out of bed, treading soundlessly across the rugs until she stands before the full-length dressing mirror, meeting her pale reflection with a critical eye. The moonlight ghosts through her calf-long nightdress, illuminating the silhouette that the shapeless garment was meant to hide. Thin shoulders. Slim arms. Curved hips. A princess, untouchable. Unbearable.

Zelda has never called upon the Sheikah magic in this lifetime, but she remembers the training from her other self's memories, how deeply it had been drilled into her instincts until she could reach for it as effortlessly as her own nose. It had been a matter of life and death then, and perhaps she should be ashamed to use it for naught but this perverse purpose now. But Zelda squares her shoulders and rejects any encroaching sense of guilt - she was doing it for love. For Link, who has earned so immeasurably much yet took so little in return. For herself, who refuses to be shackled by the confines of a princess's body, then as much as now.

She closes her eyes, and performs the mantras. The spell takes shape, and flows painlessly over her.  


She opens _his_ eyes.

The difference is not as drastic as it could be. She was not taller. She was not broader. Her hair was still blond.

But the rest is a cascade of contrasts, starting with the unflinching eyes of a Sheikah, sharp and blood-red like the edge of a knife. Skin darkened as a child of Shadow, a shade that could never be achieved by a Hylian princess no matter how much time she spent beneath the sun. Even in just the flex and contraction of muscles as she shifts her limbs, she feels faster, stronger, capable of more in a burst of exertion. It is of little wonder the other Zelda would wear this form for survival, when disguise-wise a female Sheikah body would have done nearly as well.

She raises her—his—arms. They obey her just the same. She touches his—her—cheek, collarbone, one honed bicep. She feels the touches as keenly as her real skin - albeit through layers of concealing fabric. The bandages over her fingers and forearms are meant for protection and durability in combat, but right now she just wants to _feel_ , and _sense_ , and without thinking she dismisses them into thin air. Then she stares at her bare hands, and remembers to wonder. Dismiss...?

Of course - this entire form was conjured from illusion magic, and though Impa had helped her set the initial state into metaphorical stone, there was nothing stopping her from peeling back surface layers with the right application of magic. Removing.

She looks back up to the mirror, heart pounding. A silent mental command, and the wrappings around her hair and throat slip away. Another flick of her fingers, and the rest of the suit is gone, leaving just the scant touch of shadows across her skin. She tells herself to not avert her eyes - it was only her self. The self, that she owns. Her own self.

It was not an entirely foreign thing, this sleekly muscled body - in the past life she had bared it for bathing, or the treating of wounds, but certainly never for anything like furtive acts of love. In that age of fear and subterfuge, it was out of the question to trust anyone to that degree. Not even the Hero...

How spoiled she is. How privileged, now, to lay claim to him in a time of peace. She thinks of her lover, of his bright sunlit smile, and is relieved to find that this body, too, resonates with a spark of desire at the thought of piercing blue eyes, broad muscled shoulders, warm callused hands...

Oh. More than just a spark, evidently. _Quite_ evident...ly.

And already now there is no ignoring such mounting evidence, what seems like every drop of her attention siphoning from her head straight into the pool of heat tugging at her groin. She moves a hand to cover herself, but it betrays her and curls around the too-convenient shape instead, and then from there, it is only natural to probe the newly-awakened topography, to grasp, to encourage...

She slides back beneath her sheets.

It was not the first time she had touched herself— _his self, this self_ —in that other lifetime, of course. It was impossible to possess a penis and not test out its insistently obvious functions. But it's the first time - as far as she knows - that she strokes with the thought of Link in her mind, the memory of his breath against her lips, imagining his hands on this foreign flesh—oh. _Gods._ That was...

She takes measured breaths through her nose as both her hand and heart speed up, biting back the urge to pant crassly with the attempted discipline of a Sheikah. Both the thought of Link's hands spread across her unabashedly bared skin, and of him caressing another man's anatomy in earnest, with relish, as if it were as natural as the way he touched _her_ body in their clandestine encounters... She writhes again, and by now self-control is a futile endeavor as she _squirms_ and _adjusts_ and _strives_ , trying to suss out the habits of a man. Does _he_ touch himself like this? Will he find this piece of her as strange and unfamiliar as she imagines the landmarks of his body would be to her, or would—would he know just the right way to grip, to rub, to coax this helpless response from her? Could this sweet friction feel even better in his embrace, under his hands—maybe even—using his mouth, his tongue, _his_ —

She gasps as a jolt of heart-rending intensity flashes through her, and instinctively clamps down on her grip, trying to stop her pleasure pouring out of her—but it was too late; it was only accelerating the inevitable, and she throws her head back and gives in to this body's instincts to buck, to surge, to pump into her fist as if it contained the key to what she sought, until she is spent and even then, lingering to draw out the final embers, gingerly now as to not scald herself. Little bit. Once more. Done.

She allows herself to silently breathe his name into the warm, boneless bliss, and it is so _right_.

* * *

Link finds a Sheikah dart pinning a note to his pillow. _Tomorrow night_ , it says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I write like molasses, in case you didn’t know. If you’re keen to see more, please subscribe and forget about it, cuz there is noooo way I can guarantee when chapters may pop out. ~~Or yell at me in the comments, that works too~~_


	2. Minuet

Six and a half minutes, once the candle is lit at her window. The soft _chink_ of a hookshot at her balcony, the _thump_ of his bootsteps.

Mysteriously, intriguingly, the Sheikah warrior emerges from the shadows with perfect composure—and realizes too late that she has no idea what to say to him. _I've been waiting for you, Hero of Time._ No, no, far too overwrought for an illicit tumble. _Well, let's get down to it._ Heavens, she has _some_ image to maintain—at least for Sheik's sake, even if not herself. _It's good to see you, my love._ But it isn't a fair Princess voicing those words, and as much as Link had assured her of his intentions, Sheik is still practically a stranger to him—to herself—

She is still floundering when Link takes a step forward, peering as if he can see straight through her mask, see her _true_ face. "...Zelda?"

Script ruined, she is thrown into disarray. "Y-yes?"

His face melts into a smile, which in turn melts her as well. "Okay, good. Just checking." He crosses the room with practiced efficiency and she shifts to anticipate his embrace, but he stops within arms reach and holds himself at bay. "Sure you're okay with this? Don't do it just for my sake."

Emboldened, she smiles back behind the mask. "You are... an excellent incentive, though."

"So I’ve been told," Link murmurs distractedly. His fingers reach out to skim aside the loose hair veiling her eyes, and she thinks of arpeggios over harpstrings. "Wow, you really did it."

His voice has changed again, from lighthearted quips to something husky and wondering, and it sets off sparks up and down her spine. Goddesses, she wants to kiss him. Wants to close the minute gap between them so that she could drown her trepidation and doubts against his mouth. She is suddenly aware of the cloth barrier across her face more than ever, as it traps the moist heat of her breath against her cheeks, as it traps her affection behind a cage of secrecy. She reaches up to the mask—

"Hold on," Link’s hand catches hers with the casual ease of a hero's reflexes. "I've never had the chance to _touch_ Sheik, before. Or see his face. Can I...?"

Of course he'd want to explore. Zelda lowers her hands to her sides and exhales a steadying breath, opening to him her trust, her vulnerability as she never could have, Before. As if reaching to capture a butterfly, Link takes her face in both hands and brings her forehead to his, eyelashes and breaths barely intermingling. He holds the contact there, as if to ensure she won’t vanish on him, while his hands skim down along her sides, taking measure of her new contours. Zelda twitches beneath his fleeting fingers, unexpectedly finding this warrior's body somehow more ticklish than her own - or perhaps just more alert. More unaccustomed to touch, more primed to potential danger.

 _Don't be alarmed,_ she tells it, tells herself. _He is our beloved. Trust him._

A warmth blossoms in her heart at the thought and trickles its way down her limbs, setting off fireworks where their hands meet and interweave at her sides. He spends a lingering moment tracing the lines of her palms— _Were they different? Did he recall even that detail?_ —before traversing up her wrapped wrists and forearms, ghosting over the pulse point at the inside of her elbows, testing the hardened muscles of her shoulders. _Does he like this? Does it turn him on?_ She tries to seek the answer in his eyes, but finds only a sharp concentration there, the way he studies a puzzle or a new artifact and memorizes every nook and cranny. To take advantage, later.

(She shivers, and hopes.)

Finally he reaches her face again, and this time his fingers slip beneath the edges of her cowl and push down, down until her features are laid bare to him, sharp and strange and indelicate. Zelda holds herself still for him, holds her gaze on him, holds her breath to her heart until Link drinks his fill and releases a small, self-conscious laugh. "Not sure what I expected. But you're... pretty."

 _Glad you approve,_ pipes a voice in her mind which she firmly shoves down. It was, after all, a mild affectation compared to the reverence and breathless awe he's expressed for the sight of the Princess—for _her_. Ridiculous. It was ridiculous to feel petty jealousy for her own _self_ , even if it were a different skin she wears. And yet—and yet, it was this form that is to receive his affection, not _hers_. What if he prefers— _prefers_ —

Link tips her chin up to catch her lips with his, scattering her thoughts like fireflies. He's being gentle, even though she knows he is capable of far more passion, far more urgency - but right now he takes each taste of her like a slow sip of honey, as if kissing—no— _savoring_ her for the first time all over again. "Still good?" he murmurs into the gap between their mouths.

Yes. _Yes._ Lacking words at her disposal, she clasps his face and pulls him in for a deeper kiss, coaxing his mouth apart with her tongue. He responds in kind, and all at once the tentative tension between them combusts into desperate familiarity. No matter the body or shape, he will kiss her like this, she will cling to him like this, they will fall to each other with the weight of a lifetime or two or a thousand. She works her fingers beneath his hat, threads them through his hair in the way she knows he likes, and Link seems to unravel a bit, composure slipping like the green cap dropping to the ground. "Zelda," he breathes with his eyes nearly closed, like a little prayer.

The rational part of her mind thinks to correct him, but—well, he isn't wrong, is he? She was the one attempting to establish definitions and strict boundaries, but Link operated on blind feel as often as not, and the feel of her was still—at the root of it all—Zelda. A foolish girl playing dress-up, who hasn't spent seven years denying her identity, whose life does not hinge on a masquerade. A girl who simply loved her Hero, by whatever means.

She murmurs his name in return, in that low, hushed voice the color of dusk, and Link makes a noise low in his throat, burrowing down beneath her collar to drag his mouth across her jaw, her neck. "I've wanted you for so long," he groans against the throb of her pulse, barely intelligible.

Again that voice tickles at the back of her mind - did he mean her—or Sheik? Is he confessing further to forbidden thoughts from a lifetime ago?

What of it, then? She was Sheik _now_. If it entitled her to enjoy his affections - the _full_ extent of his affections - then let _Zelda_ be neglected and forgotten, if that’s what it comes to. She can deal with that later when his arms are _not_ locked around her waist, when his hands are _not_ brazenly grasping her rear, pulling her tight against the evidence of his _want_. The firm evidence of her own. They do not fit together like this, push against push, rise against rise. Don’t they? _Don’t they?_ Link's hand snakes down and _cups her there_ , making her nearly jump out of her skin back into her own body. He meets her shocked glare with a low chuckle. "Everything in working order, then?"

Zelda sputters, indignant. "Wh—Of cour— _Yes!_ Why do you think—Why would I have called you here if not?"

"Mm," Link does not remove his hand while he tips his mouth against the pulse at her neck. "Just for fun." His palm presses _impertinently_ against her contours. "Just for practice." His thumb circles a dangerously sensitive spot through the fabric, making her squeak. "Just because you find me irresistible. Getting close?"

 _Heavens_ and _Spirits_ and the _Sacred Realm_. Zelda closes her eyes and flashes through half a dozen Sheikah breathing exercises, utterly failing to center herself. "Now that you have your answer," she grits out between her teeth, "Do you know how to... how we should... do this?"

"Mm, nope." He carries on anyway, bless him. "You?"

"Well, I—" She presses her face into his shoulder, shuddering from the stimulation and definitely _not_ from embarrassment. "I've... encountered some books that detailed the process, although they s-seemed somewhat... sensationalized..."

Link snorts a chuckle into her hair. "Gods. If I needed any more proof that you're still my Zelda." He pulls back and gives her his mock-serious look, the one that spans the range anywhere from "mock" to "serious" with deniability to spare. "We don't have to do whatever just because a book said so, okay? We're here to make each other feel good." He dips his head close again, breath hot and deliberate. "I want to make _you_ feel good.”

Goddesses. Help. She balls her fists into his tunic and manages to swallow the moan that threatens to escape her throat, tries to look daring instead of swooning. “How do you... propose to do that?”

Link hums, thoughtfully or perhaps provocatively. "Pretty sure..." he gives her a searing look up and down, "whatever we end up doing... I need to get your pants off." His hands scrabble over her backside, making things _very interesting_ but ultimately finding no purchase. "...How do I get your pants off."

"Who says they come off?" She lets her hair drop over one eye in what is surely a very enigmatic fashion. "Sheikah craft. Very enduring."

"Are you serious?" His eyes flick down and back up again. "What if you have to pee. Do Sheikahs pee?"

Zelda works very hard to keep a straight face. "Some secrets are not for divulging, Hero."

"Great Deku Tree. Zel. Don't do this routine to me right now." Link covers his face and huffs, half-laughter and half-exasperation. "All right, wait, lemme try that again." He scrubs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath. Then he looks up, and her stomach nearly drops out at the sudden _burn_ in his darkened expression. " _Do Sheikahs fuck?_ "

Sheikahs should definitely _not_ get weak in the knees. Hold fast. _Hold fast._ Muster your resolve and match the opponent's ferocity. " _Let's find out,_ " she growls, and pushes him into the sheets.

She had not thought it would be so... easy. In all their past dalliances, she had always let Link take the lead, for _Zelda_ had to play the role of the blushing maiden, hapless subject to a man's undue attentions. But they were both men now, and she can be the one doing things to _him_ , if she wanted to. She can run her tongue down the side of _his_ neck, if she wanted to. She can slide her hand up his shirt and hear him groan at the novel intrusion, and push his clothes up to expose a forbidden expanse of skin, if she wanted to. She can lean down and taste him, the smooth planes and valleys that faintly shimmer of salt, and torturously swirl her tongue around one hardening nipple. If she wanted to.

She wants. She wants, and does, and takes without reservation, beholden to no one but him for once in her life. Link moves in twitches beneath her, whispering hoarse syllables that don't fully coagulate into words, hips flexing indiscriminately up to bump against her stomach or thigh, little flashes of heat like an unprimed brand. She looks down to see him straining, the thin white hose doing next-to-nothing to conceal his impropriety, especially at the tip where it has gone nearly see-through from— _oh_ —from his arousal. Even as she watches—perhaps _because_ she watches—a bead of moisture wells up and soaks further into the surrounding fabric. A hot sweetness roils in the pit of her stomach, like a sip of mulled wine.

 _She_ was the one to do that to him. She can do _more_ to him. A daring fills her, and she leans down and touches her tongue to that spot of wetness, trying to discern his taste through the flimsy texture. "Shit," Link chokes in a rising pitch, voice nearly breaking off in his throat. "Please. Take it off. _Please_ —"

She snags his waistband in both hands and yanks it hard and down, and at the same time Link sits up and tosses off his shirt and tunic in a single motion. ( _It's fine - Sheikahs don't need to breathe anyway._ ) "That’s good," he throws her an unabashed grin, "but I was talking about you."

Very well - he had been patient long enough, and her own tight suit was by this point uncomfortably confining anyway. Zelda stands and takes a step back, tries to not think about modesty or panic, and wills all her wrappings away in a rush of spellwork.

"What the—" Link goggles, _probably_ more from the display of magic than her nudity. "You can just— _do_ that??"

She quirks an eyebrow. "It is all illusion, after all."

"That doesn't explain anyth—" Link shakes his head. "You know what, forget it. Just come here." He rises to meet her as she steps back into his arms—and she nearly shakes to pieces at the full-body jolt of skin against skin, the first time she's able to touch him so completely head-to-toe-and-everywhere-inbetween. Their mouths meet, barely clashing before falling apart for breath, and their chests meet, and their c— _Farore, help her_ —their _cocks_ meet, and bob and weave and meet again, hard and prominent and unavoidable. Zelda thinks briefly of swordplay and has to choke off the analogy - she is no match for him in that element, after all. But in this - she flexes her hip _just so_ and makes him groan, a strained sound low in his throat - in this, she can gain the upper hand—which leaves him the lower hand—

the hand, that lowers—

_his hand—_

—cups her, grasps her, _slides down and back up her length_ with deliberate intent. She peeks down and is nearly undone—for he is stroking himself at the same time in his other hand, and the sight, the unabashed proof of his desire drives her to _want_ , to _take_ , to rise on her toes and press into his hand like a needy cat, whimpers leaking thin and reedy into his ear. They stay like this for some mesmerized moments, heads bent together and sharing fragile breaths, eyes locked on the motions of his hands until Link mutters, "It's bigger than mine. Why."

"Seriously?" She gives him a shove, spell broken like a mirror. "I didn't have any say in what this body would be like, okay?" But Link pulls her laughing into his lap, adjusts his grip around both their lengths so that they were pressed together, squeezed together, _sliding together_ —and whatever else she might've managed to say is lost into an undignified wail as she ruts mindlessly into his hand, against the heat and thrill and solidity of his flesh that ignites her like nothing she could have imagined. She takes from him so hungrily that Link can only lean back and brace himself for her, offering burning whispers of _yes_ and _fuck_ and _just like that_ and _wait, hold on—_ He spits into his hand before returning it to coat them both, and she tastes stars in her mind at the sudden _slickness_ —though it only lasts a few paces before burning away from the heat between them.

"Oh, here—" She detaches from him just enough to stretch over to her nightstand for the small jar she had guiltily-giddily stashed there the night before, unstoppers it to drizzle a small pool into the center of her palm. Without a thought she reaches out - and all but forgets herself in _touching him_ , caught up in a rush of details - how impossibly hard he is, how silky the glide against her palm, how he glistens in the aftermath of her touch—

"Oh, wow," Link murmurs, eyes fixed on her fingers at work. "What is that stuff."

"...Scented oil from Gerudo Valley." She manages to come back to her mind enough to re-tip the bottle against her palm and apply some to herself. Din, that really _was_... effective. "A gift from some visiting dignitaries."

"Must be expensive," Link plucks the bottle away from her and pulls their bodies together, rolling her down into the bed and intertwining their legs. "Don't waste it on me."

"P-Pretty sure we have you to thank—" The weight of his hips against hers makes her lose her breath temporarily, "that we even ha—have diplomatic relations with Gerudo in the... f-first—" And the rest of her words are given up for lost, for Link is dragging himself against her in slow, deliberate strokes, the frictionless _slide_ between their overlapped cocks so hot and searing she is sure a fire would spring forth. She tugs him into a clumsy kiss and he bears down harder in response, the drive of his hips rocking her against the bed in a rhythm she tries, poorly, to match. He loops his arms beneath her shoulders as she wraps hers around his neck, and then it's not just their hips grinding together but chests touching and thighs touching and skin touching everywhere—

Was this... sex? Has she crossed that forbidden threshold without even pausing to consider it? This doesn't seem to exactly match the descriptions she had uncovered in any of the books, clinical or lurid, but—what did it matter when her legs are curled shamelessly around his waist, when they are moving in tandem towards that ageless goal? When she's finally able to look upon his face crumpled in ecstasy, the lustful sounds tumbling from his lips, and revel in being finally able to make him feel like this with her own movements, her body, her _self_? "Don't stop," she pleads, tears at the corners of her eyes as she coaxes them both on with the roll of her hips, her hand at the small of his back. "I love this—I love you—"

Link groans in a desperate voice and rears up, leaning his weight onto one hand while the other wraps again around their wet cocks, working himself to fraught ragged gasps. "Z-Zelda, I—" His words break into raw sound as his head rolls back, a choked cry of near-pain tearing from his bared throat. She feels him swell and pulse against her once, twice, looks down to see the whiteness spilling out of him and over his hand, over them both—she moans and rocks up hard against him, chasing after his pleasure, and the last few movements of his hand carry her over and into a blinding, electric thrill as she arcs, and _arcs_ —

She comes back to her senses with a final twitch and gasp as Link gingerly removes his fingers, wiping his hand futilely against his side before reaching out to clasp her empty hand. They linger there, breathing, for some dazed moments before Zelda scrambles for the washcloths in her drawer she had so diligently prepared, and they clean themselves off with shy giggles and distracted kisses. Finally they settle back against each other, trading soft nuzzles and wordless reassurances in the cooling night air.

"I love you. That was fun." Link trails his fingers through her hair, attempting to brush it away from her face and only somewhat succeeding. "Could, um..." He clears his throat carefully. "Would you like to change back now?"

Gratefully but also a little regretfully, Zelda raises a hand to release the spell, and exhales in relief as her true form returns to her. But with the flow of receding magic, comes a sudden rush of warmth in her chest, a sharp and overwhelming surge of emotion that tightens her throat and wrinkles her brow, and floods her into tears.

"Hey, whoa. Zel." Link is on her in an instant, hands darting between her face and palms and hair and unsure of what to do. "You okay? Did I—"

Helplessly she shakes her head, unable to reach for words through the inexplicable onslaught of tears. "No, no, I'm just..." Goddesses, why can't she stop? "I-it was so good. I love y-y..."

"I love you too," replies Link, face still full of concern. "Good tears? You're not hurt?"

"N-no. Happy." She sniffs and wipes at her face furiously. "Sorry, I don't mean to, to make you worry." Finally she overcomes the hiccups, and presses her face into his chest with a long sigh. "I guess... it's a lot easier to feel emotional in this body."

"Okay," Link says, sounding not entirely reassured. "Sorry for... making you change? I just wanted to see you, after... Dammit, I'm selfish."

"You are not." _So, so far from it._ "You are wonderful and crazy and we just had the time of our lives." She raises up to kiss him thoroughly, not releasing him until she could be sure of erasing all remnants of doubt and guilt from his mind. "Thank you."

Link finally allows himself to relax, dropping his head to the bed beside her with a sigh and a small grin. "Thanks for listening to my stupid ideas."

She reaches up and rumples his hair. "Those stupid ideas saved Hyrule, once."

Link snorts into her shoulder. "Gods, no, not just the stupid ideas. Pretty sure there were some very," he presses a kiss to her jaw, "wise," another kiss beneath her ear, "ideas involved."

The ideas coming now to her mind are not particularly wise. She runs her fingers down his back—and startles, belatedly, at the bare sensation of skin and sweat on her fingertips. He was still naked. _He was still naked_ and she's just in her nightgown. "Link. Link—stop."

Link tenses, freezing in place, before giving himself a small shake. "...Yeah. Sorry." He gives her hand a final squeeze before sitting up and pulling a sheet over himself. "I better get going," he tells her with a contrite smile, "before I get in trouble for doing what we were trying to avoid doing in the first place."

Ruefully Zelda watches him dress, touching a hand unconsciously to her silk-covered body. How quickly the barriers fall back into place, as if she hadn't been writhing deep within the mires of depravity mere minutes ago. The Sheikah body was illusion and has been fully dissipated - but she could swear she still feels remnant effects that should by no means belong to her. The buzzing warmth still running through her veins - that was her own, wasn't it? How can she feel so sated when the—the parts involved hadn't even been real?

She has to know more.

Fully dressed and back to normalcy, Link kneels by her bedside for a last lingering kiss. "See you... next time?"

Next time. A promise, for more. Blood jumps to her face, her heart, and she has to fight to not capture him to her and never let go. "Next time," she breathes, and then he is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Sheikahs do not pee. Having cosplayed as Sheik I have the authority to say this


End file.
